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Despite the fact she’d made it abundantly clear she and Mark were not an item and were hardly even friends to everyone she’d encountered since she’d returned, Taylor’s Grove seemed determined to match them up.
“I caught two nice bass and a couple of bream.” Mark held out his hands to indicate the length of the fish. “Kale caught four. All bass. All pretty nice.”
“Sounds like enough for a fish fry to me. Which, of course, translates as a fish grill if we have it at our place.”
“You insist on grilled fish, yet you’re eating barbecued ribs with both hands,” Mark pointed out.
“Fish is a staple when you own a marina.” Bree licked her fingertips noisily. “Ribs are a once-a-year indulgence.”
Audrey had been quietly getting down as much food as she could while the conversation was going on, and she took advantage of the lull to excuse herself. “Hey.” She touched Bree’s arm, studiously ignoring Mark. “It’s been fun, but I’m sure Mom’s tired. I need to get her home.”
“Call me and we’ll run down to the marina one day soon. You still haven’t been there.”
“I will,” Audrey promised. “I’m anxious to see what you’ve done.” She didn’t add she was anxious to find out if there was any truth to the latest rumor she’d heard today—that Kale and his dad had approached Sol Beecher about buying the marina at the edge of town.
A couple of years back, the Barlow men had bought a marina on Jonathan Creek, about ten miles away. They’d since added moorings and covered docks, and a campground was in the five-year plan. That kind of new business for Taylor’s Grove could sure be a boon.
She gave Bree a quick hug and managed a nod to Mark, who nodded back with a tight-lipped smile, then made her way toward the gazebo, going around the long way so she didn’t have to get into a discussion with Tank about Cyrus’s ribs, which had, as promised, been the best she’d ever eaten.
“Mom? Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, dear. I am.” A plate of food sat on her lap. It looked untouched.
“I think she forgot it was there,” Patti whispered as she slipped the plate and all into an oversized plastic food bag. “She can eat it later if she gets hungry.”
“Thanks, Patti.” Audrey took the bag in one hand and her mom’s arm with the other. “We’ll see y’all.”
She looked for Tess, but the child wasn’t at the table where she’d been eating watermelon a little bit ago. Audrey scanned the crowd, not in the least panicked like she would’ve been in Florida. Taylor’s Grove had zero crime, which made it one of the most idyllic places in the world to raise children.
Oh, crap! Tess and her friend Bailey had found Mark and were talking his ear off.
“Let’s go, punkin,” she called as she approached them. “Grandma’s tired, and we need to get her home.”
Bailey’s eyes went wide. “You can’t go home yet. We haven’t done the greased pig contest. Please don’t go.”
Tess’s eyes turned pleading. “Can we stay, Mama? Please? I don’t want to miss the greased pig contest.”
Although Bailey brought it up, Audrey knew she had no one but herself to blame. For years, she’d told Tess hilarious stories about kids trying to catch the greased pigs—standard entertainment fare at Taylor’s Grove picnics.
“I want to go home.” Audrey’s mom’s voice had an agitated edge. “Take me home. I want to go home, now. Take me home.”
“Please, Mama? Can we stay?” Tess whined.
“Home! Take me home!” Her mom jerked on her arm, and Audrey felt herself coming apart, pulled in two directions.
“I’ll bring Tess home.” Mark was suddenly beside her. He kept his voice low, in case she wanted to turn him down.
“Thanks, but no. I don’t want to put you ou—” Her mom broke away and started back to the gazebo.
“It won’t put me out. We’re neighbors.” A lump lodged in her throat at the kindness in his words.
She turned around to check on her mom, thankful that some of the ladies had stopped her and were calming her in hushed tones.
“Please, can I stay, Mama?” Tess bounced up and down in her eagerness.
The whole town was holding its breath, waiting for her answer.
Or maybe it was only Mark.
Either way, she so didn’t want to be the center of attention.
She looked around and found Bree headed back to the table, too busy with Isaiah to be cognizant of the drama brewing around her.
Audrey caught up with her. “Hey, Mom’s ready to leave, but Tess wants to stay for the kids’ activities. Could y’all bring her home when you leave?”
“Of course. No problem.” Bree grinned and nodded at Tess, who’d followed her mom.
Audrey was rewarded with a hug to her leg and then Tess bounded off, perhaps before she could change her mind. “You sure you don’t mind?” She kept her eyes on Bree and away from Mark.
“Not at all.” Bree waved her away as she started toward the table again. “Go take care of Helen.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Turning back toward her mom, Audrey couldn’t continue to ignore Mark’s looming presence. She glanced up at him. “Bree’s taking care of it. Thanks anyway.”
The look shadowing his face spurred her away, barbecued ribs and his alienation congealing in a heavy mass in the pit of her stomach.
* * *
“ISAIAH THREW UP on Bree and Kale both.” Mark answered the question on Audrey’s distressed face as she held open her front door.
She recovered quickly, her face twisting into a look of feigned horror as she took in her daughter’s appearance. “Did they decide to grease you in place of one of the pigs?”
Mark wasn’t sure he was being invited in, but he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity. He grabbed the door and followed the child’s giggle inside.
“I had one, and I tried to hold on real tight.” Tess made a circle with her arms, pantomiming the tale. “But he squirted out like toothpaste does when I smush it, and then he ran ’round and ’round and ’round.” She scrambled around the two adults in a tight circle.
Audrey watched Tess, shooting him a look during the third orbit that asked where he’d picked up this alien life form.
He gave a sheepish shrug. “Too much sugar, probably. I let her have a snow cone with extra syrup.”
“Two!” Tess said, correcting him, still making laps around them.
Audrey scrubbed her hand down her tired face, squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. She grabbed her daughter on the next pass and brought the pig chase to a stop. “Hey. You know the rules. Tomorrow’s a school day. Shower, teeth, then bed. Lights out at eight. No exceptions.”
“I’m not sleepy.” Tess gave a petulant thrust to her bottom lip—exactly the way Audrey used to do when she was peeved. The expression twanged a poignant chord across Mark’s heartstrings.
“No exceptions,” Audrey vowed. “Now tell Mr. Dublin thank you for bringing you home and good night.”
He noted the slight emphasis she placed on the last word but chose to ignore it.
Tess shot him a look of reluctant surrender. “Thank you for bringing me home. Good night.”
“Good night, Tess.” His wink flattened her protruded bottom lip into a slight smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Audrey’s words dripped with dismissal. “Good night.”
He made no move toward the door. “I thought I might stay a while if you’re not too busy.” He saw the protest on her lips and added, “To talk about how things are going.”
Her eyes cut to her daughter and back before she drew a deep, resigned breath. “All right. Let me get her tucked in. Please have a seat.”
He did as she instructed, but the formality in her tone made him want to throw something. It wasn’t like he was a first-time visitor. He’d practically lived in this house, spending more hours here some days than he did in his own home.
He scanned the dining area of the kitchen—the part he could see. Countless meals he’d shared at the Paschals’ table—even had his own designated seat. The piano still sat where he’d last heard Helen playing the Chopin she so dearly loved. The couch he sat on was different from the maroon-and-green plaid of their teenage years, and the recliner where Audrey’s dad had snored in front of the television had been replaced. That observation brought on a pang of regret he hadn’t been home for Owen’s funeral. The guy had been like a second father to him... Would surely have been his father-in-law but for the events of that tragic night eleven years ago.
The night that threw his life on a totally different trajectory from what he’d always imagined it would be.
And yet...here he was.
He forced himself to turn and look at the arrangement of pictures on the sofa table in front of the window, ready to confront Callie’s memory. But not ready to confront what was there. Not the one picture of Callie he remembered—her junior year school picture, her last one. Instead, the table was filled with photos of her, all the other family photos replaced by Callie from birth to her last days.
The sight punched him in the gut so hard, he felt bile rise in his throat. Burning guilt left a trail as he swallowed and it singed his soul, exposing the tender, raw wound that never completely healed.
His heart flew into a beat that pumped blood into his legs and encouraged him to run from this place and never return.
But he had returned—to this town, this house—for precisely this reason. He’d run from his demons for far too long. Tonight he would face them, and every day from here on.
He stood and walked to the shrine on legs that were stiff and heavy. His fingers clenched, drawing tighter into fists with every step. By the time he stood by the table, they refused him the right to touch even the frames. But he forced his eyes to linger on each picture, met her gaze in every one and spoke his heart. “I’m sorry, Callie. Sorry for the part I played in your death. You were a good friend. I loved you, and I miss you every day. I know I can’t take back the words, can’t bring you back.” Tears stung his eyes, and he stopped. His vision had to be clear for this. “And yet, you’ll always be here.” He touched his heart with the end of his fist. “I’ve dedicated my life to keeping children safe. You didn’t get to be the teacher you dreamed of being, but I became one in your stead. I strive to personify the love you would’ve given them. I ask your forgiveness. And I hope someday, I’ll have earned it.”
He waited, half expecting her to answer him.
A sound drew him around.
Audrey paused on the top step, her hand gripping the banister, frozen to the spot.
Had she heard?
He couldn’t tell. The tension in her face never seemed to leave, making it hard to read now when it had never been difficult before.
He watched her neck muscles ripple as she swallowed and came to life again and finished her descent. “I should’ve offered you something to drink.”
“Beer’s fine if you’ve got one.”
She nodded and disappeared around the door of the kitchen.
He started to follow, thinking perhaps they could sit at the table like old times, or on the swing in the backyard. He heard the refrigerator and then the freezer open and close and his better judgment advised him to settle down back onto the unfamiliar couch, which he did.
Audrey returned with two frosted mugs. She handed him one and moved toward the recliner across the room, but then changed her mind and chose the occasional chair closer to him, causing his heart to skip a beat. “Tess is still awake, so we should keep our voices low,” she explained. “How’s she doing? Is there a problem?”
“No, no problems. She caught up quickly and has made friends. She talks about her dad and his family and Florida, but she seems to be handling the move well. The episode about Bobcat is the only time I’ve seen her upset.” He stopped, waiting for a response.
She didn’t say anything, and they looked at each other for the better part of thirty awkward seconds. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Well thank you for the report. Now, if we’re finished...” She stood.
“We’re not finished.” He took a gulp from the cold mug.
“I have work—” She pointed to the door where her dad’s office had been.
“We have to talk, and I’m ready to get it over with. You might as well sit down and be comfortable.”
Her chin rose defiantly. “If you want to talk about Win’s death, I’m not ready to talk with you about it.”
“That’s too bad because I am.” He stood. “But if you want to do it standing up, I’ll make a concession.”
Her eyes tightened around the edges, and she pursed her lips in a look he remembered: displeasure. Finally she blew out an exasperated breath. “Bring your beer.” She led him to the front porch. “If this gets—” She paused. “I don’t want Tess to overhear.” She took a gulp that drained her glass halfway and then sat on the top step.
“The last time we talked about that night, you did all the talking.” He sat, using a pillar as a backrest so he could face her comfortably. “It’s time I had my say.”
“Look, Mark. I know you’re sorry. We’re all sorry. You’re sorry you dared her to go upstairs. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop her.” She swiped the air with her mug, causing some of the brew to slosh onto her hand, which she wiped on her shorts. “Being sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.”
“Yes, it does. If I wasn’t sorry, you’d have every right to never forgive me.” He watched her mouth open like she was going to say something, but she closed it without making a sound. “But I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Audrey. Not again...at least, not right now. I’m asking for your friendship. I miss you.” He was thankful they’d moved outside to the darkness. Under the lamplight inside, she surely would’ve been able to pick up on the heavy thudding of his heart under the thin material of his T-shirt, or see the skin on his wrists rippling with strong pulse beats.
“You ask too much.” She ran her hand through the top of her hair, loosening the silky strands, which fell softly back into place. “We can’t be friends.”
“Yes, we can.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gripping his beer with both hands. “We can be whatever you allow us to be. Don’t you see? We didn’t just lose Callie that night. We lost us, too... And I’m talking about the friends us, not the lovers us. I understand that’s probably gone forever, but I don’t understand why we have to go through the rest of our lives grieving for a loss that doesn’t have to be a loss.”
She shivered and crossed her arms even though the temperature had to be in the high 80s. “I can’t forget.”
“Me, neither, but I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to remember. Remember the two kids who were best friends from the age of four. Who played together every recess. Who rode their bikes together every day after school. Who spent every day of summer vacation together from morning until dark. Those years weren’t wasted, Audrey. They have to count for something.”
Moonlight glinted on the tears in her eyes, so he’d touched a nerve. He pressed on in hope. “If I learned anything during those years in Africa, it was that you can do whatever you put your mind to, but first you have to be brave enough to face it. I’ve witnessed the indomitable human spirit firsthand in Ebola victims. I’ve seen children dying of starvation from years of famine. The brave ones don’t give in without a fight. They fight to hang on because they see good in the world. Friendship is good, Audrey. People need each other. It’s what keeps us going...makes life worth living.” Her face turned away from him, eyes staring out into the front yard at nothing in particular, but an ear was toward him, and he would continue talking as long as he had her ear. “We could be friends again, starting tonight. We could talk to each other in a civil manner and exchange genuine smiles and maybe even occasionally laugh at some inside joke that comes back to us from years ago. We may not be what we used to be, but let’s at least be part of that good in the world.”
He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer to her. He scooted his bottom across the concrete until he was only an arm’s length away—close enough to touch if she should be so inclined.
She wasn’t, but she chewed her bottom lip, which meant she was at least thinking about what he’d said. When she shook her head at last, his heart stalled. “I don’t know, Mark. I can’t guarantee anything.” She stood and tilted her head toward the door. “But I wasn’t lying about needing to work. I have stuff I have to finish tonight.”
It wasn’t a no and his heart did a double beat to catch up. He stood and finished off the remainder of his beer before he handed her the mug. “You’ll think about what I said.”
He didn’t pose it as a question, but she nodded as if he had, her face somber in the moonlight. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
He smiled...but it wasn’t returned.
At least, not yet.
* * *
TREY COOPER SAT on the couch where he’d slept most of his twenty-seven years. He was waiting for sunrise, for that first slant of sunlight to break through the dirty blinds, through the rectangle where he’d broken the end off the fourth slat from the bottom. He snaked his tongue out, feeling the scar that cut through the right corner of his upper lip and edged out onto his cheek a couple of inches. That beating had been one of the worst ones because Daddy hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out for a long time.
He gave a shrug even though there was nobody to see it. For years he’d lain awake in the wee hours of the morning, watching for the sun to break through that rectangle and shine some light into his dingy existence.
